


Absolution

by besmirchedmaiden, miamoriartyart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Exes, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Memory Alteration, Memory Modification, Mentioned Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Reconciliation, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29380905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besmirchedmaiden/pseuds/besmirchedmaiden, https://archiveofourown.org/users/miamoriartyart/pseuds/miamoriartyart
Summary: The price of war often comes at hefty cost whether it be sacrifice or sin, or sometimes both. And only when the dust settles does Draco truly comprehend the price of repentance and  forgiveness.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 23
Kudos: 82
Collections: Box of Chocolates





	Absolution

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Box_of_Chocolates](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Box_of_Chocolates) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Amnesia/Memory Modification / Heart Motif / NSFW/SFW unspecified by artists
> 
> A big shoutout to my alpha/beta [ sweetestsorrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katschako/pseuds/sweetestsorrows/works) who I'm pretty sure is exhausted of hearing about this fic. I love you so much, you are my platonic Valentine's 💖
> 
> A thank you to [ CuriousUnderground](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousUnderground/pseuds/CuriousUnderground) for her help! 😘 
> 
> The piece was inspired by the prompt + the stunning art work by [mia-moriarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miamoriartyart/)! Find her here on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/miamoriartyart/), [Tumblr](https://mia-moriarty-art.tumblr.com/)

* * *

* * *

**_1997_ **

Hermione ran down the empty corridor of the castle, her impractically tall heels clacking loudly on the cobbled floor. She wore clothes that she would have scoffed at when she was younger, deeming them to be for shallow, vapid girls who were obsessed with appearances. Despite this, Hermione had allowed herself to be dressed up just like the dolls she never found interest in. She slipped into a delicate off-shoulder top, flowing polka-dotted skirt, and dangling heart earrings that were selected for her. The girls groomed her for hours, taming her hair, and beautifying her face. _Oohing_ and _ahhing_ after. 

_“You look like a real girl now,”_ they proclaimed _._

As she reached her destination, with her heart thumping wildly in her chest, she hoped that what they said was true.

She walked past the nondescript wall three times in haste, as every thought was of him and only him. 

A cracked but solid wooden door with a large brass doorknob appeared in front of her, Hermione patted her curls and breathed slowly as she reached out to grasp it. 

The room was dark save for a small torch glowing in the corner next to the curtained window, and a dwindling fire which was burning in the fireplace. A desk with shadowed objects was pushed up against the wall. Bookshelves decorated every wall and in the middle of the room was a sofa and a coffee table. 

She took a tentative step into the threshold and approached her boyfriend - _if she could even still call him that -_ who was sleeping soundly on the couch. It was a stark contrast to the way he had looked lately. 

Gaunt.

_Broken._

Leaning against the armrest, Hermione stroked his soft blonde hair, wishing desperately that he could be like this always. She loved him like this. 

His eyes fluttered open, and she pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

“Hermione,” he mumbled sleepily, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“Hi, I’m sorry to wake you. You can sleep.”

“No, no I just-” 

He moved to sit up, waving his wand to light another lamp, and pulled her onto his lap.

All the times that Lavender and Parvati insinuated that he was moving on, getting tired of her, wisped away into the abyss. If only they could see the utter devotion that shone in his eyes as he looked up at her. It was a look she was sure he had out-grown. 

She almost cried in relief at seeing it again. Instead, she brought her lips to his, forgetting that she was mad at him, worried for him. Right now, she loved him, and that’s all she wanted to say. 

Winding her arms around his neck, Hermione pressed herself to Draco completely, devoted to memorising him once more. Maybe it would reignite the fire that existed between them before.

He pulled away, though, when their breaths got heavy and the kiss deepened as their hands wandered further and further. She made a sound of protest as he shifted her from his lap back on the sofa, the warm bubble she was enveloped in popping in the middle of what felt like a snowstorm. 

The spell was broken and Hermione stared ahead at the fireplace not saying a word, her right hand idly stroking her collarbone. There was a palpable wall between them, built with bricks of emotional and physical distance. Her heart ricocheted like crazy, as she realised he had shuttered himself and pushed her away. Again.

She chanced a look at him and watched as he gritted his jaw and glared daggers at the fire.

“Are you—” she whispered before pausing for a moment “Are you breaking up with me?” 

His silence at the question only served to deepen the fault lines and fractures in her heart.

“Don’t you think it’s best if we end this association, Granger?”

“No,” she replied petulantly. “I don’t.”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “And what is it you suppose we do?” His voice was raised now, sharper like the blunt steel of his eyes. “Why should we commit ourselves to this sham of a relationship? We both know it can’t end well.”

She flinched unwittingly. She felt like a fool, for not believing the other girls when they insisted it was over. It seemed they were right.

“I—” her voice cracked, her head was spinning. She couldn’t think straight. “Please.” 

“Granger,” he sighed, looking at her again like she was a helpless puppy. 

Hermione _hated_ that expression.

She squared her shoulders. “You don’t need to do this, Draco. We can overcome this, I can-”

“I knew you’d fight me on this,” he bit out, as if her willingness to fight _for him_ was a nuisance.

“And why shouldn’t I? You seem to have given up on us, without even telling me why! I know you’ve been given some sort of task, it’s been eating away at you all year.” She found the pinnacle of the issue, it only served to incense her, find her balance in this discussion. “I know you’re struggling with it, but what I don’t understand is why you refuse to tell me what it is you’re doing. You haven’t even spoken to me in weeks, even though I could help you.”

“Granger, stop.”

She pressed her quivering lips together, and clasped her trembling fingers. Even though deep down she knew they were barrelling towards this, it still shook her to the core that it was actually happening. He was ending it, leaving her. 

“Do you not love me?” It was impossible to steady the tremor in her voice.

“Of course, I love you!” he half-yelled, surprising her with the volume. “That’s why I’m doing this! For your safety.” 

“Why don’t you let me decide, instead of robbing me of my free will?” Hermione argued, beginning to heat as anger coursed through her. “We said forever! Does that mean nothing to you? For once, stop being cowardly and stop running away from me."

“I’m sorry we can’t all be brave little Gryffindors,” he spat, his words dripping with venom. 

“One of the tenants of Slytherin is loyalty!” she snarked back. “Maybe you should prove that.

“You’re absolutely infuriating,” Draco ground out.

“Good thing you’re breaking up with me, then.” She crossed her arms. “All your promises are for naught. At the first sign of trouble, you’ve abandoned everything we built.”

“Circumstances change, Granger.” 

“And I told you, I can look after myself. I’ve survived against the Dark Lord for the past six years just fine,” she yelled. 

They had this argument before, but they were usually interrupted. They had existed on a stilted impasse for so long, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room. She had to break the standoff, prove that they were worth fighting for.

When he said nothing, she moved closer to him, placing her hand on top of his. 

Draco stared at her and shook his head slightly, before she took his lips between hers once more. The ice between them melted away, giving way to the fire that existed between them whenever they came together. 

She poured herself into the kiss once more, _needing_ to prove her loyalty to him. He had to know she was committed to him _forever._ Twisting and shifting so she was beneath him, they ground against each other, desperate for closeness. 

Her head fell back against the armrest, as he began passionately kissing down her body. She allowed him to untuck her skirt, and he in turn let her open his trousers. 

At first, it was a frenzied attack of groping hands and clashing mouths, before he slowed down, pumping in longer strokes, his eyes tracing her face and his fingers caressing her hair. 

“Hermione,” he whispered softly against her neck, as they held each other close after their union. 

“Yes?” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. 

“Will you do something for me?” 

“Of course,” she agreed far too readily. 

He smiled, pecking her lips, before removing himself from top of her. She whined at the loss of contact. Draco offered her his hand, helping her from the couch. He waved his wand, and their clothes straightened back. He pressed a gentle kiss on her hand before leading her towards the window.

She peered at the starry night sky, lit by the bright glowing moon. She could stare at it forever, stay enveloped in this moment forever.

“It’s so beautiful tonight,” she murmured, as he stood behind her.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he mumbled into her hair. 

She blushed at the compliment, she had hoped he might have noticed the effort she placed in getting ready. Hermione was glad she had followed Lavender’s advice on wearing an off-shoulder top, seeing as Draco couldn’t refrain from teasing the skin of her neck, throat, and shoulders with his lips and teeth. 

“Draco,” she moaned, tightening her hand in his hair. “Shouldn’t we go back to the sofa?”

“No, no,” he breathed heavily. “I’m sorry, you just keep distracting me.” 

“I have something for you.” He retrieved a small box from his pocket as she turned to glance at him. “I have been meaning to give you this for some time, and I finally managed to procure it from my vaults.” 

She let out a gasp as he revealed a delicate chain, with a thick heart-shaped ruby balancing precariously at the center. He gently guided her to face the window and placed the necklace on her. Goosebumps rose on her skin as the cold metal made contact.

“This,” he whispered,“is imbibed with ancient magic and will keep you safe. I don’t know what will happen in the future— _Don’t argue with me on this, Hermione,”_ he said, noting the look of defiance on her face.“It has protection spells, for your well-being. I know you’re stubborn and fearless and stupidly selfless, and I cannot always be there to protect you. But with this I can at least try.” 

She nodded and fiddled with the ruby, unable to reply, overcome with the more emotion.

He still loved her. 

“Will you trust me?” he asked, as he blew out the lights with a wave of his wand. 

She nodded again as the room became bathed in darkness except for the light from the night sky streaming through the window. She gripped his shirt tightly in her fist, as he leaned over to open a box on the desk in front of her. The seemingly never-ending depths of the water pooling inside reminded Hermione of the pensieve in the Headmaster’s office. 

A scarlet red glow began to emit from the box, bathing the room in its fiery light. 

“I love you, Hermione. Truly. My heart will be yours forever. You will hold it, always,” Draco whispered in her ear, as his hand came to cover her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” 

Before she could react, she heard his last words.

“Obliviate.”

* * *

_**2000** _

It was an intrusive, absurd hope that lingered within Draco, one that crept up on occasions like tonight as he attended an event organised by the Wizarding Alliance for Nurturing Kindness. Ever since the war had ended, there had been extensive efforts to rebuild wizarding society. Well, efforts in all the hackneyed ways one could fix the torn fabric of society. 

Galas, balls, luncheons, dinners, and parties upon parties were hosted under the guise of closing the divide. The first gala had been impactful. There was a real sense of comradery between the wizards and witches that night, and the committee in charge, fuelled by the success of the first engagement, had gone into overdrive trying to replicate the energy. It quickly became an excuse to drink and gossip about others, to get an outfit featured in Witch’s Weekly, or to snag an eligible bachelor or bachelorette. 

In fact, at the success of the first round of efforts, a new subcommittee was born - Annual Reunification Social Engagements - and within days, the head of the initiative had been able to convince the department and the Ministry that a good portion of the budget should be dedicated to their cause. Draco had no reason to doubt the tenacity of the new subcommittee's leader, after all, she was his mother, and he knew exactly how persuasive she could be. 

This came with its own pitfalls. Now, with his mother leading the charge, his presence was invariably required. He managed to evade the planning part but she strong-armed him into the appearances. 

He hated it. Every moment. 

And in every moment, at every event, Draco hoped he might see her. 

When the evenings inevitably came to a close, with the rays of the sun beginning to graze the darkening sky, she always remained noticeably absent. He hated it even more, chiding himself for even thinking she would grace any of these inane occasions. 

Still, it was a sick cycle. One he couldn’t and didn’t know how to break. 

The ancient grandfather clock downstairs clanged the hour signalling the start of the latest party, and Draco sighed before straightening the cufflinks of his robe and dusting himself off. He knew deep down that she would never attend, that she had more morals than to attend some self-serving, pompous party that accomplished very little. But when the hoards came pouring in there was always a twinge of hope. 

He took a deep breath, feeling it travel up his sternum as he released it with a hefty sigh. Training his practised smile onto his face, he started the descent down the stairs. Draco had spent his whole life learning how to be the perfect host. It was a necessary component of being a good pureblood heir. 

Though, the descriptor was debatable when it came to him or his life. 

He hadn’t been good for a long time. Every choice he had made led to destruction in some manner. It was a futile effort to even pretend he held any value in current society. He knew his mother would go the extra mile to assuage him, if he voiced the opinion out loud, with a large dollop of emotional manipulation. 

His mother believed an engagement could fix anything, that everything could be handled with a few greased palms. Draco wanted to point to his rotting father, and ask really how well did that work out for Lucius?

But Draco kept his mouth shut. He had burned enough bridges for a lifetime. It wouldn’t do well to hurt the last person left in his life that even remotely cared about him, as misguided as his mother might be at times. 

After all, hadn't he caused enough suffering?

He had scarcely taken his last step before he was swept away into the milling crowd of early guests and passed around like a plate of canapé between groups. He shook hands and chatted good-naturedly, providing vague answers to the overbearing and inquisitive questions that attempted to delve into his personal life. 

It was understandable. All his peers were constantly gracing the gossip pages, with their adventures and relationships. Why wouldn’t the heir of the Malfoy and Black lines be doing the same? 

Draco had to give it to his mother. Despite the blemish in their family, he was always received with a sort of admiration at the events. Despite his refusal to re-enter society, he knew that if he ventured out he would not be met with outright derision or rejection. Their sins, it seemed, had been forgiven. 

However, these weren’t thoughts he was willing to admit to his mother. She would take it as ammunition to encourage him to socialise further, and he couldn’t have that. Merlin forbid, she think of him ready to be set-up on dates with pureblood witches, in hopes of securing a future bride. He was perfectly fine being an unmoored shut-in. 

Draco took a large sip of champagne. He wasn't sure who exactly handed him one, but either way it was successful in taming the irritation that bubbled within him. He resisted the urge to down it. Every party only further lowered his tolerance for the bullshit the witches and wizards of society spewed. This party had hardly just begun and already his nerves were sorely grated. 

Currently, he was sandwiched between two boorish Ministry employees discussing the banalities of the new Galleon to Dragot conversion legislation. Thankfully, they weren’t paying much attention to him, allowing him to drown out their conversation and focus on the incoming guests. 

For the Valentine’s ball, the London townhouse had been decorated in a theme of brassy golds, and graceful whites, with some red woven sparingly into the theme. The roses were a concession from his mother, only after she ranted for weeks about how her employees had suggested the colour scheme to be in hues of red and pink. It was cliché and tacky she grumbled at the dinner table after every meeting. But it seemed in the gesture of coming together she had allowed for _some_ red. 

Couples danced intimately on the floor already, wrapped in one another’s embrace, and Draco found himself having to look away from the scene. It was only as he shifted his gaze towards the entrance of the ballroom he spotted her entering with her entourage, the people she was rarely seen without. 

Boy Wonder, or more widely known as the Saviour of the Wizarding World, was leading the group. Potter kept his head ducked low, his steps were unsteady, and his hair a perpetual mess. All those galleons in his account and the man still couldn’t purchase an actual comb, or properly fitted dress robes. On his arm was his girlfriend, the pale pink colour of her ballgown clashing awfully with her flaming red hair. Her brother was not fair behind her, his dress robes only slightly better suited for his complexion. At least it was a vast improvement from their Yule Ball, Draco mused to himself for a brief moment before turning his attention to the only person in the room that mattered. 

On Weasley’s entirely undeserving arm was _her_.

It felt as if time had frozen, once Draco finally allowed himself to really look at her. She wore an intricate, midnight blue ball gown, with her hair twisted into a lovely chignon. Still, unruly brown curls escaped, falling in front of her face. Draco’s fingers twitched at his sides with the instinctive urge to tuck the errant wisps hair behind her ear. She looked nervous, like a fragile baby bird. 

He felt a bubble of _something_ rise up and lodge itself in his chest. It was an overwhelming mixture of desire, hope, and longing. She was finally in attendance, like he dreamt of ever since these events began. 

She was here.

Despite all the promises he made to himself to stay away, he knew he couldn’t do it now that she was in his house. It was easier to tell himself he was no good for her and that she was better off without him when she _wasn’t_ breathing the same air as him. 

Draco felt the pull towards her overwhelm him. It was as if her magic was calling out to his, drawing him in despite his best intentions.

“Draco, darling, come here.” Distantly he heard someone call for him, but his feet were moving of their accord as he pushed through the crowds to get to her. He was so close that he could smell her sweet scent when someone grabbed his arm, tugging him towards them. 

He was ready to bark at the intruder when he turned to see his mother pulling him away. 

“Mother, please excuse me,” he gritted out, desperate like a man wandering the Sahara who had finally found his oasis. She was fast disappearing as the crowds swirled around her, everyone needing a piece of her.

“Nonsense, Draco. Allow me to introduce you to Mister Tristan Jung,” she said firmly, shoving him in front of a red-haired man, one who reminded him of the stories Draco had heard of his late cousin Tonks, with twinkling eyes and a wide smile. 

“Welcome, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Draco greeted formally, reaching out to shake the other man’s hand. 

“The good man here was telling me about the wealth of opportunities he has in his firm. Did you know he has the first type of anti-ageing charm? One he’s secured a patent for! They’ve permanently managed to remove wrinkles for up to — What was it again?”

“Five-hundred days, ma’am,” Tristan responded 

“Five-hundred days! Goodness, I’ll look young for so much longer! You know how the stress of the subcommittee has already given me so many wrinkles. After all, Rowen’s anti-wrinkle potion only lasts for two-hundred days at most. Pah, if you could say two-hundred, more like less than fifty. Truly, Draco this is revolutionary.” 

“That’s nice to hear, mother,” he replied nonchalantly, before turning to Tristan. “Congratulations on the endeavour.” 

“And he works from New York, Draco. You’ve mentioned how much you’ve wanted to visit, didn’t you?” She turned to Mister Jung, “My son has been craving an adventure and the chance to meet new people.” She leaned in closer, whispering, “You know London society is so close, it’s the same people every day. One could hardly blame him for wanting to get out once in a while.” 

“Yes, of course. New York is just the place,” Tristan said proudly, squaring his shoulders. “Your mother tells me about your great prowess in Charms.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Draco replied candidly, without a single care for the conversation at hand.

“Oh, Draco is just being humble. He was able to master the Protean charm at the age of fifteen. He spent hours and hours perfecting his spells. My Draco is very talented. He can solve any problem, in a matter of moments. He was challenged greatly, and still, he was able to succeed.” She squeezed his shoulder. “He’s a powerful wizard, Mister Jung.”

“What my dear mother has neglected to mention is that all my power was used to prop up a fascist dictator,” Draco added drolly.

“Draco,” his mother admonished, looking slightly frazzled at her son’s candour, but it only sparked laughter from Mister Jung. 

“Sorry, mother,” he replied, chastened by his mother’s response at his own forthrightness. “But I don’t herald the right type of magic, so I probably wouldn’t be the right fit for your organisation.” 

“Magic is neither right nor wrong, it is only power,” Mister Jung chuckled before reaching into his pocket. “Here’s my card, you give me an owl when you’re ready. I’m certain we’ll figure out the right role for you in the organisation.” 

Draco nodded, accepting the card before excusing himself from the company and rushing to the last spot he had seen her. 

There was no trace of her. 

He continued to make his way through people, paying no heed to their protests and grunts. He stopped short when he finally found her. She was sitting at one of the tables circling the dance floor, the one in the far most corner. She never did like attention, even though it forever followed her. She had her head bent close to Weasley, as he whispered in her ear, a small but happy smile gracing her face. 

Draco felt his heart lodge in his throat. He felt like an intruder, a peeping tom casting a dark gaze upon their love. He balled his fists, realising there wasn’t much he could do. She wasn’t his to claim. His actions had made certain of that. Now, she was someone else's. 

He needed to take a step back.

Ashamed, he glanced at her one last time, memorising the soft expression on her face, and tampering the urge to break something or worse…cry. He bit his lip as he stumbled back into the crowd, unsure how to anchor himself to reality. 

It was like a cruel joke. 

How long had he waited for her, longed for her to grace these halls? Never in a million years had he expected she would actually show up. He couldn't deny that he dreamt of their reunion, but none of the iterations in his mind involved another man, much less the Weasel. Draco felt like he was suffocating, and resisted the urge to claw at the collar of his robes. He had to leave.

He managed to find his mother again. She was socialising with a different crowd of people this time, an older, widowed, pureblood scion and his two dutiful daughters. His mother had been hinting at the idea of him pursuing the younger sister for a while.

“Please excuse us,” he said sharply as he extracted her from the group. 

She raised her eyebrow at him. 

“Mother, I’m not feeling well, so I’ll be adjourning to my room now.”

Narrowing her eyes, she pressed her hand to his forehead. “Nonsense, you seem fine.”

“Mother, please,” he pleaded. He couldn’t stand to be in this room for a second longer. 

“The party just started, Draco. One more hour,” she negotiated, indicating with her index finger, “and then you can go.” 

He nodded solemnly, his eyes flickered back across the room to where she sat. He must have lingered for a moment too long, because his mother was giving him a knowing look, patting his back. 

“Stick close by me, sweet boy,” she murmured, as she brought him into the group.

He truly tried to engage with the people around him, to listen to what they were saying and offer more than false platitudes in return for the trepid stories, but it was nearly impossible to resist her siren’s call. Draco found himself constantly glancing across the masses to see what she was doing, to try and ascertain how she was feeling. 

It wasn’t as the clock struck ten and the hour was coming to a close that he was finally near her again. She still sat at the same table, but mercifully her red-haired boyfriend was nowhere to be seen nor the many guests that she had spent the last hour chatting with. Instead, her head rested on her folded arms as she wistfully watched the dance floor that had filled with more and more couples as the evening progressed. 

He had been staring at her for far too long when he felt a sudden tug and his mother was nodding for him to go. 

He knew he should have retreated back to his chambers. Instead, he walked towards her. It was mostly likely a fruitless effort, considering her boyfriend could pop up at any second and sweep her onto the dance floor. Draco would be left to watch as she cocooned herself in Weasley’s arms. 

Nevertheless, he persisted, until he was standing in front of her. She looked up, a startled expression gracing her face as she realised who had joined her.. 

“Hi,” he said hesitantly. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“You want to… join me?” she asked confusedly, her head tilted to the side. 

“If that’s okay with you.” 

She shrugged, “It’s your home.” 

A tight smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he took a seat next to her. 

“I was surprised to see you decided to attend tonight,” he mentioned offhandedly, after several moments of silence stretched between them.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” 

“I- I just meant you’re hardly ever seen at events like these. It’s not really your scene,” he explained, internally panicking at the thought of offending her immediately. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t want to fight, Malfoy.”

He pressed his lips together, it made sense she would assume the worst of anything he said. It was easier for her mind to place them in what was always their default setting. He had been a vindictive piece of shit to her. It was clear that she was suspicious of him.

“I don’t want to fight, either,” he agreed readily. “But come on Granger, don’t pretend like you actually want to be here. You see these sorts of events as meaningless gestures. You prefer actual change, and we both know this is little more than an excuse for people to socialise under the flimsy cover of reunification.” 

Her mouth opened at a delicate ‘O’ at his passionate words, and Draco yearned to swallow her surprise and morph it into pleasure as he pressed his mouth to hers. 

“I suppose you’re right,” she agreed. “But my friends insisted. They wanted me to have fun.”

“If that’s the case, then why isn’t your boyfriend taking you for a turn around the dance floor?” he asked nonchalantly, trying to concentrate on the dancers in front of him instead of her beautiful face, lest he ended up doing something he regretted. Again. “Your friends seem to have abandoned you. This hardly can be your idea of fun.” 

“They have hardly abandoned me,” she argued. “Like you said this isn’t my scene, and I just wanted a moment alone without being badgered.” 

“People can’t seem to get enough of the Golden Girl,” he mused, smirking when she wrinkled her nose at the title. “I can hardly say I blame them.”

“Is that why you’re sitting beside me and not the dance floor with some perfect pureblood witch, Malfoy?” she questioned.

“I wouldn’t be a gracious host if any of my guests were upset.” 

“I’m hardly upset,” she scoffed. 

“You looked lonely, like you could use a hug.” He smirked at her. “Or, at the very least, a more attentive boyfriend.”

“I find it hard to believe that there’s any part of you interested in my well-being. So, quit it with the unsolicited speculation on my life, and make your usual jab at my hair or my robes because somehow I doubt you have the effusive warmth to be offering a hug or company, Malfoy,” she replied bitingly. 

“Well maybe I’m doing best to nurture kindness,” he rebutted. “Would you really hold it against me for trying to be different than I was a child, to actually see if I could be a _good person_?”

He leaned closer to her, their faces a breadth apart. He was so close he could chart the constellations of freckles on her nose, so close it’d take one more shift towards her and he could have her lips against his.

“Do you really see me as so unredeemable, Granger? Is that why you have such little faith that I might want to be better? Is the idea that I would try to make amends really so ludicrous?” he whispered, watching her eyes widen at the lack of distance between them. 

Did she feel the electricity the way he did? He wanted to pull her into his arms and never let go. 

She shook her head, and it was like being doused in a bucket of ice water. He shifted away, his thoughts going haywire and wrecking chaos in his head. 

“What would I have to do to convince you that I’m trying? What would it take to earn your forgiveness, Granger?” 

“I already forgave you,” she reminded him, crossing her arms. 

Draco had sent a letter after his trial, begging for absolution for all his school-yard bullying, and his cowardly actions during the war. She had sent back a small letter thanking him, praising his growth, and accepting his apology. He wrestled with himself for days trying to figure a way to reply, to start a conversation between them. He wrote pages and pages of letters, explaining the true nature of his feelings towards her before eventually burning them.

After a week of agonising, he folded her response and placed it in a box where everything she gave him remained. 

A few months later, he had woken up, determined to win her back. He was going to write a short note asking her to meet, and he could explain everything to her, in person. He had gone down to breakfast in a cheerful mood, only to open the papers and see her and Weasley gracing the front page. 

She was in love. 

Draco was too late.

He resolved from that moment on to never call on her, unless she sought him out. He had no right to go barging in her life and demand she love him back, not after everything he had done. 

Still, as he sat there alone with her, on Valentine’s Day of all days, and soft, rose petals fluttered down from the ceiling, his resolve to stay out of her life crumbled. 

All his arguments and justifications were for naught, he just wanted her back. 

“The tone of this conversation makes me assume that the forgiveness was offered out of politeness,” he laughed, though the sound was entirely empty of mirth. “For the sake of being kind, or something like that.”

“I _am_ kind,” she snarked. “And...despite what I said earlier, I do believe in second chances. That’s why I forgave you.” 

“Is that so? Am I absolved of all sins?” he challenged, eyebrows arched. “Well, then, you wouldn’t mind if I asked you to dance, right, Granger?”

Draco knew he was pushing his luck, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had to at least try.

“I think not.” She eyed his outstretched hand warily. 

“In the name of reunification and _kindness_ ,” he added, as she considered the implications. “And your forgiveness.”

Several more excruciatingly long seconds passed, and just when he was about to lower his hand and leave, she finally nodded, placing her delicate hand in his grip. Draco grinned, and led her on to the dance floor between the twirling couples. Though he made sure to keep a respectable distance between the two of them, he _finally_ had her in his arms.

He took the opportunity to study her intently, memorising every detail. He didn’t know how long it would be, if ever, before he would have the chance to hold her like this again.

From this vantage point he could see her clearly– every curl, every eyelash, every freckle. 

Her brown, doe eyes, the button of her nose, the pout of her lower lip...

The graceful arch of her neck, the swell of her chest, and… 

The necklace. 

At the sight of the ruby, the barrier he so carefully built around his heart cracked. She was still wearing her necklace.

The seed of hope that had taken root in him and refused to wither away finally bloomed.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's day, everyone! 💘


End file.
